


ground currents

by enbytieflings



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Buried Alive, Character Study, Introspection, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Trauma, dont question me you know im right, she/her pronouns for the vast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25253236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbytieflings/pseuds/enbytieflings
Summary: mike is not afraid to fall -- he's just afraid of hitting the ground.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	ground currents

**Author's Note:**

> bro i dont even know  
> ive been trying to express my thoughts on mike crew since he's literally my heaviest hyperfixation character currently (seriously he gave me a hyperfixation in the way lightning affects the human body (LOOK INTO IT ITS SO COOL)) but i just keep writing things and then scrapping them because a) i didn't like them anymore/got bored of them or b) they were WAY too big for me to feasibly write before i dropped the special interest in tma lmao  
> anyways, mike crew is the most interesting motherfucker in tma and we don't talk about him enough and we need to talk about him more because he brings so much to the worldbuilding of tma and did not deserve to die so suddenly and early on.  
> rant over, now enjoy the first section of a now scrapped mike/oliver fic i started and will never finish i guarantee you. the title is the name of one of the ways a person can be struck by lightning; when lightning strikes the ground nearby a person and the current travels through the ground and into the persons body. i do not think this is how mike was struck but it was the only title i could think of because the original for the fic was. not fitting for this one bit lmao.
> 
> thanks loves <3 ~peter

When Mike had first reached out to the sky above him, it was a desperate plea for salvation, a final resort to free himself from his tormentor since childhood. As he clutched the book tight against his chest and let himself feel the fall, eyes screwed shut so tight bursts of color appeared in the dark blinding his sight, he expected failure. He expected to hit the ground and survive long enough to see what the creature who followed him for years had planned for him. He expected to hit the ground and let that be it -- he’d be free, in a sense, and maybe it would be worth it. He hadn’t expected to keep falling. He hadn’t expected to open his eyes and see the storm around him fade slowly, transforming the space into an infinite, empty, open blue sky. He hadn’t expected to feel a presence around him, all at once, enveloping him in a comfort he’s never felt -- consuming him. He hadn’t expected to cry, either. He’d never felt so safe.

When Mike reached out to The Vast after She claimed him, it was in a similar vein of desire -- a desire for safety, for comfort, for that sense of love to envelop him once more. He always received an answer. She would always bring him back to that clear sky once more, let him fall for as long as he needed to feel insignificant again -- She knew he needed this. In return, he would bring others to Her, bring them to that same sky, and watch as they felt the exact opposite of what Mike felt when he fell. He never understood why anybody would be so afraid of it -- he was in love with the feeling, obsessed with it if he were to go so far. It was amusing to him to watch them flail and panic, not realizing that they could simply embrace the fall, and let it bring them peace. Of course, it wasn’t as though he was bringing Her these people as an exchange for Her safety. He was doing it as a thank you, not as a requirement. He was sure that if he asked, She would agree, but he’d never thought it necessary to try.

When Mike reached out to The Vast in his time of need, She couldn’t give any response, for he was trapped seven feet under the ground, The Buried dragging him even further with every attempt to struggle free. The Vast had no reign over The Buried’s domain, no matter whether what was within it belonged to Her or not. He knew this, tried to keep it in mind while futilely thrashing and kicking and choking on dirt. He couldn’t help the deep pit in his chest, the feeling of betrayal that forced itself into him, the expectation that he would never feel Her again. He tried to dig his way out, but every time his hand broke grass, reached up towards the sky he couldn’t yet see, he would be pulled back down with no mind to his comfort or safety. He finally understood the fear of falling.

When Mike felt the dirt above him shifting and the dirt below him clinging to his back, trying to pull him further down once more, he figured it was The Buried trying to spur him into action somehow, to get him to entertain It once more. He wished he could say he was used to it by then. A familiar fear surged through his body, forcing a sob from his lips, forcing soil into his mouth and lungs, just as painful as it had been the last time. He hoped this time the pull was The End coming to drag him down to whatever fate befell him after life, just to escape this hell. Surely the real thing couldn’t be any worse. But when the pressure pushing onto his chest started to weaken and the grip pulling him downwards loosened, he felt a sliver of hope somewhere in his gut. He wanted to shut it out, not have any expectations, but when he reached his hand out once more, he barely needed to fight. His fingers pressed through the dirt and into the open air without struggle, and the hope he felt returned tenfold as he started to dig himself out for the final time. No tricks this time.

When Mike reached his hand out of the ground for the last time and a hand grabbed onto his, he had to squeeze it as hard as his stiff fingers would let him to believe it was real. Even then, he wasn’t certain. It returned the strength in its own grip and began to pull, helping him out of the dirt and the cold grapple of The Buried. He held his breath as if it mattered -- he couldn’t breathe either way within the dirt. 

When the clumps of dirt fell from Mike’s face and finally let him open his eyes, the first thing he did was look to the sky. It was dark and partially covered by clouds, but he couldn’t help the tears that started to roll down his cheeks and the laughter that couldn’t escape his throat with all the soil in it. He doubled over and started coughing violently, chunks of dirt mixed with blood falling onto his already ruined jeans. He couldn’t really tell when his hacking turned to heaving and then to vomiting, spilling whatever was in his stomach at the beginning of this torture onto himself. Something pressed into his back and he flinched away from it hard, sobbing. The weight reminded him of the clay that grabbed onto his back like hundreds of hands of the dead pulling him down to their domain. He was finally out, he couldn’t let himself go back under.

When Mike managed to calm down (to a certain degree), he caught sight of a person (human?) sitting nearby him, legs pulled up to their chest with their arms wrapped around them, watching from afar. Mike’s eyes had finally cleared out by now, what with all the crying and scratching at them. They didn’t break eye contact when he managed to make it, and it was made all the more uncomfortable by the fact that their eyes looked… dead. Entirely dead, as though rigor mortis had set in and their eyes were already decomposing themselves. They noticed Mike’s fear and nodded, turning their head away and looking off into the distance, towards what Mike could only make out to be a dirt path exiting the forest beside them. He shuddered and continued to stay where he was, listening to the loud ringing in his ears cover most of the noises around him.

When Mike reached out to the sky above him, She greeted his return with open arms, pulling him into a fall that he could trust with certainty would keep him safe.


End file.
